


The Only Exception

by leigh57



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Part of him wanted nothing more than to run, but he had to admit he was surprised that that part wasn't really . . . winning. Because another part of him was, now that his breathing had slowed a touch, having vivid flashbacks to the sensation of her entire body pressed against the length of his, the smell of her skin and the soft curves and angles she'd taught him how to touch."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Exception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adrenalin211](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrenalin211/gifts).



> So. This happened. And I feel _so tentative_ about posting it. If you read [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1004870), I feel as if it's really important for me to explain that this is _not_ that story. At all. I blame this on adrenalin211, but then again, I blame everything on her. In short, this is PWP that I wrote for her, and she swore that I should post it, so I am. If you object to consenting adults going at it (not that this is super graphic), or profanity, definitely read no further.
> 
> And now that I've blamed everything on you, A, thanks so much for the beta. You're the best:)
> 
> The title is (obviously) taken from Paramore's song.

The dream's fuzzy, a little blurry around the edges, but it's clear enough for him to sense everything about the fact that he’s in a shower.

With her.

The scent of berry shampoo as it drifts down his temples, her fingers massaging it into his hair, slow and gentle. Steam floating past as she draws her tongue along his jawline. The soft slide of soap bubbles on her palm as she strokes it up the inside of his thigh. And then her warm hand closes over his dick, thumb rolling over the tip, and he can feel his whole body go taut with how good it feels, with how _much_ he wants her to keep touching him, rubbing him as he gets harder, how much he wants to press himself into her hand until he comes everywhere, anything to relax the tension that makes him shiver even in the heat . . .

Daryl's eyes shot open, not that it mattered much in the almost complete pre-dawn darkness that still filled his cell. He tried to sort all the input all at once, and failed. The only things he knew were that Carol was naked in bed next to him, and he’d woken up with his damn dick pressed into her thigh, hard and insistent. 

He bit down on his lip and stopped moving, curling his hands into fists and ignoring the sweat that crawled outward from the center of his back. The memories from last night exploded over him in random pieces, disordered flashes of sensory input.

Taking off his shirt had bordered on unbearable, knowing she was watching, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep from touching his scars, knowing she already understood what they meant, knowing she wouldn't say a word.

The blistering sting of alcohol on ripped flesh as she cleaned the wounds on his back, followed by the creepily erotic pressure of her circling fingertips as she massaged in the antibiotic ointment, paying careful attention to every single scratch or nick.

The unexpected, dangerous curiosity in her eyes when she'd leaned in, touching her lips to his, soft and warm and _so much better_ than his obviously pathetic imagination. The breath he sucked in when she flicked the clasp on her bra and tossed it aside, her fingers brushing his stomach as she reached for the button on his jeans. The full-body pleasure shock of sliding inside her, intensified by the tiny _ooooh_ she exhaled when he pushed all the way in, and by the way her hips had lifted, closer, reaching for him. The sound of her whispers against his ear, quiet, telling him all the things he needed to hear to make it even close to okay that he was allowing himself to do this.

_Relax. Just kiss me. That feels so good._

_Put your fingers right there._

_Oh, please just keep doing that._

_No, don't slow down. Please._

The way she'd pushed her face into his shoulder when she came, her small fingers tight around his arms, how much it had surprised him when it happened so quickly. The euphoric feeling of her gasping against his throat and knowing that _holy shit_ , he'd done that, he'd made her feel that way. But before he could even process any of it, she'd started moving again, rocking beneath him (still so quiet), whispering that he could go harder, that he felt so good inside her, that she wanted to hear what he sounded like when he came.

And he did, right then, no control or finesse at all.

Fuck, they hadn't even gotten dressed. He'd been so tired after the nightmarish run and then . . . that. Afterwards, when they were both mostly breathing again, when his heart wasn't thudding quite so scarily, she laughed and touched his face, told him to go to sleep, that they’d have time to talk about it in the morning, and he just . . . hadn't had anything left to fight her with. He'd glanced at the floor to check for his jeans and crossbow, scanned the cell door to make sure it was locked, then closed his eyes to the taste of her toothpaste on his lips and the sensation of her fingers in the back of his hair.

He was still in the middle of trying to figure out what the fuck to _do_ about the aftermath of all this shit, about being naked in bed with her with a giant hard-on, when he heard her mumble sleepily, "Why'd you stop?"

Daryl cleared his throat, never quite so grateful that it was too dark to really see her face, or she his. "I uh-"

She rolled over and scooted sideways, and goddammit there wasn't a single thing about her he didn't love, nothing she could do or say that didn't make him _more_ turned on. She squeezed his arm, thumb making a circle, and asked, her voice so quiet in the surrounding silence, "How's your back?"

His back? Oh, shit. The glass. Right. He did a mental scan. "Little tender. No big deal." He breathed in, working hard to make what he wanted to say come out of his mouth instead of stay in his head. "Thanks for . . . taking care of it. I know I wasn't-" Fuck, he didn't know what to say to her to explain. "Cooperating. But it feels a lot better."

"Good." She wiggled closer, and with no warning he felt the heat of her palm brush the edge of his still hard dick. "I can take your mind off it for a minute before we have to get up." Mischief danced in her voice, and even if the dark he could picture the exact glint that would light up her eyes.

Jesus Christ, her fingers felt so good. She already knew how he liked it, and she was working that knowledge in every way possible, firm strokes that muddled his thoughts and distilled all the energy in his body to the throbbing in his dick. "Just stop, okay? If you don't, I'm gonna-"

"What, come all over my hand?" she interrupted, her voice light with amusement and affection he had no idea what to do with. "Go ahead. You want to. _I_ want you to."

He did. Want to. His body had already taken over anyway, his hips thrusting rhythmically into the heat of her hand. He swallowed and muttered, "You sure? You don't have to do this just 'cause I woke up all-" He stopped there, too distracted by the pressure of her fingers.

"I'm sure," she whispered. "Shut your eyes and let me."

So he did, threading his fingers softly through her hair as she stroked. She paused for half a second, pulling her hand back, and he almost made a disappointed noise out loud until he saw, in the barely there light, Carol licking her palm twice before she put it back.

Between that visual and the feel of her now slick hand on him, it was over in three or four more thrusts, a rush of pleasure so pure it made him lightheaded as he felt himself coming all over her fingers. A noise rolled up in him, vibrating in the back of his throat, and he gripped the sheet to keep himself silent. She rubbed softly as he pulsed, until he was finished, and then she reached behind her to grab a t-shirt she'd discarded last night, gently wiping it over her fingers and his stomach.

His heart thudded like a nervous animal, caught, and he could hear himself breathing. Part of him wanted nothing more than to run, but he had to admit he was surprised that that part wasn't really . . . winning. Because another part of him was, now that his breathing had slowed a touch, having vivid flashbacks to the sensation of her entire body pressed against the length of his, the smell of her skin and the soft curves and angles she'd taught him how to touch.

Shit. Which reminded him. Given what she'd just done for him, maybe she needed-. He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to-" Well how the fuck could he put that? He was still trying to finish the sentence when she burst into that infectious laughter, muffling her face in the pillow.

She ran her hand down his arm and let it drop on his hip. "You know what I'd like more than anything, right now?"

"What?" He was jolted with the force of how goddamn much he wanted to give it to her, no matter what it was, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

"I'd like you to . . . stay here. Until we have to get up." He felt the warmth of her foot on his shin. "We've got what, maybe half an hour?" She paused, swallowed. "But if that's not okay, then-"

"It's okay." It felt strange, but he pushed past the discomfort, the sense that he was using muscles he wasn't aware he had, and put his fingers on the small of her back, pulling her toward him. "I've just never-" He exhaled, realizing how stupid this was going to sound. "Done this."

Carol put her hand on his cheek, turning his face enough that she could inch forward and touch her mouth to his. She let it linger there for a second before she pulled back and burrowed into the pillow, still facing him. "I know." She smirked, and this time it was light enough for him to see her expression for real. "But you must be a natural, because so far, I'd give you an A+."

He was pretty sure his face had to be flushed as hell, but he decided to let it go, and focus instead on the way she grinned and closed her eyes, tucking her ankle a little further between his.


End file.
